Chlorine Summer

Marcus's baseball uniform sat in his locker like a condemned prisoner. Third day in a row. Coach was gonna kill him, but honestly? Marcus was already dead inside.

"You coming to practice?" Ty asked, slapping his mitt against his thigh like that somehow made Marcus want to answer.

"Nah. Got stuff." Marcus shoved past him, heart hammering like he'd just stolen home plate under fire.

The real truth: he was going to the pool. The *pool* pool, where the popular kids hung out. Where *she* was.

Jenna.

The day's heat pressed against his back like a bully as he walked, orange-stained fingers clutching a bag of Cheetos he'd impulse-bought as an excuse to be there. Here. Whatever.

*This is pathetic,* his brain supplied helpfully. *Watch me fake my own death instead.*

But then he saw her, swimming laps like her life depended on it. Orange swim cap blazing like a tiny sun against the blue water. And Marcus—stupid, ridiculous, hopelessly awkward Marcus—just stood there holding his Cheetos like an offering to the gods of teenage humiliation.

Then she noticed him.

"You playing hooky from baseball?" She treaded water, grinning like she knew something he didn't.

"How did you—"

"Your jersey, genius. You wear it every day. You're basically a walking school spirit poster." She splashed water at him. "Get in already."

Marcus froze. Water. *Swimming*. Him. The combination had "disaster" written all over it in neon letters.

"I don't have—"

"Trunks?" She rolled her eyes. "Goes without saying, but I'm guessing you'd rather drown in your clothes than admit you're unprepared?"

*Touché.*

"Fine." He yanked his shirt off. Cheetos forgotten somewhere on the concrete behind him. "But I'm warning you, I sink."

"That's because you're thinking too hard about it," she called as he slipped into the cool blue embrace. "Relax. Let go."

And there it was—that moment, that split second when everything shifted. The water held him. The orange cap bobbed ahead. The baseball uniform gathering dust in his locker didn't matter. The expectations, the should-be's, the supposed-to's—all of it dissolved into chlorine and summer sky.

Marcus's first summer. Not the team's summer. Not his dad's summer. His.

"Not bad for a baseball player," Jenna said later, floating on her back beside him. "You're actually learning to swim."

"Learning to live," Marcus corrected, watching the orange slice of sunset slide across the water's surface. "Same difference, right?"

She laughed, and it echoed like something worth chasing.

*Yeah. Same difference.*